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WINTER IN THE SUN; R & R on Antigua

TWENTY minutes from the Antigua airport, bouncing around in the back of a taxi whose shock absorbers had seen better days, my wife, Carole, and I admired the lush countryside whizzing by, already feeling revitalized by the warm air we'd come so far to enjoy. But where was the ocean?

''Are you sure this is the way to the St. James's Club?'' I asked our driver.

He glanced at me in the mirror, eyes full of pity, and sighed.

''Try to relax, O.K.?''

Relax? Well, relaxation was the point of the vacation. But even in the Caribbean in late January, our two children safely at home with baby-sitting grandparents, achieving relaxation in just five days can be an elusive goal for two stressed-out New Yorkers.

Choosing the proper destination was crucial. Guaranteed warm weather was at the top of our list. So was a direct flight from New York. A full-service resort would expedite relaxation: who wants to waste precious hours scrambling about the countryside in search of restaurants and good beaches?

The St. James's Club in Antigua appeared to fit the bill. V. C. Bird International Airport on Antigua is four hours from Kennedy Airport, sunshine is plentiful throughout January, and, on its hundred acres, the St. James's included two beaches, four restaurants, a casino and a fitness center. It offered sailing and windsurfing, scuba instruction, kayaking, tennis, horseback riding, water aerobics and even croquet. Not that we had any intention of doing these things. But it was comforting, somehow, knowing they were available.

Our driver finally delivered us to our hotel, some 40 minutes after leaving the airport. (The St. James's Club has recently changed hands and is undergoing light refurbishment before its reopening Nov. 20.) It is on the south side of the island, safely distant from the more crowded north end, where most of Antigua's hotels are clustered. It sits on a beautiful spit of land bordered on one side by the churning Atlantic Ocean, on the other by the narrow but picturesque Mamora Bay. The open-air lobby overlooks the resort's main pool, which in turn overlooks the ocean. Only a giant television across from the registration counter, invariably broadcasting CNN, marred the tropical serenity.

We had selected a standard hotel room -- suites and small villas are also available -- and found it spacious and tastefully decorated. The marble bathroom would qualify as a small studio apartment in Manhattan (though the dismal shower pressure, a result of the island's chronic water shortage, would send most tenants to housing court). The room had cable TV and a clock radio that went off every night at 1 A.M., despite our daily efforts to disable it. Best of all was the view from our small terrace: an emerald-green lawn bordered by flowering hibiscus and bougainvillea on one side, the shimmering, blue-green Atlantic on the other.

Unpacking could wait. We scrambled into bathing suits and headed for the beach.

There are two at the St. James's. A small beach on the bay side of the resort was dominated by a large, half-submerged sailboat a few yards from shore, a reminder of the devastation wreaked on Antigua by Hurricane Luis in September 1995. (The St. James's, like most of the island, has otherwise recovered from that storm.) A few intact yachts were moored at the hotel's small marina, which also serves as the resort's water-sports center. We prefer our beaches quieter, and our vistas uninterrupted, so we chose the ocean beach on the other side of the narrow peninsula. About a hundred yards long, with a small restaurant at one end, it was blissfully uncrowded, though we soon realized why: a strong wind howled off the ocean the entire time we were there, and took some getting used to.

We sipped rum punch, ignored the wind and congratulated ourselves on choosing a resort so chock full of activities and dining options that we'd never have to budge more than a few yards over the next five days.

Or so we thought. The next morning at breakfast we overheard a guest talking about English Harbour and Nelson's Dockyard. We'd taken a no-sightseeing vow before leaving New York. But I'd recently read a biography of Horatio Nelson, and Carole and I are both suckers for scenic harbors. We decided to leave the club just once, for a half-day at most, then hurry back to the St. James's and get on with the business of relaxing.

We rented a car from an Avis representative on the hotel's premises, who gave us a surprisingly in-depth lecture on using the car's jack. We began to understand her concern once we left the hotel property: Antigua's roads are pitted with potholes deep enough to swallow a small vehicle. Driving in Antigua is a bit like playing a video game; eyes glued to the road, you slalom frantically from one side to the other to avoid potholes as well as the cows and goats that leisurely cross the road every half-mile or so. It's a game for two players. ''Crater on the right!'' Carole would shout. ''Goat on the left, stay right!''

The scenery made concentrating on the road difficult. Antigua is 108 square miles, much of it uninhabited. Tall, volcanic mountains cascade down to sweeping valleys carpeted with pale green grass. Except for the occasional, heart-stopping glimpse of aqua-colored ocean, it's easy to forget you're on a Caribbean island. Antigua was once covered with sugar plantations, but when caning became unprofitable in the 19th century, most farms were converted to livestock. Today the countryside is dotted with the stone bases of windmills and cane towers.

Nelson's Dockyard, a 20-minute drive from our hotel, turned out to be well worth an off-campus visit. The world's only existing example of a Georgian naval dockyard, it was used as a careening station in the 18th and 19th centuries. Here, giant wheel-like capstans pulled over (or careened) ships by their masts, so that their bottoms could be cleaned and painted. Having a permanent repair station on Antigua enabled the English to retain a continuous maritime presence in the Caribbean.

Several original buildings in the Dockyard have been restored, including the Admiral's House and the Officer's Quarters Building, and many are still used. Sailboats still use English Harbour's repair and hospitality facilities, much as English galleys did two centuries ago. We spotted sloops from dozens of ports, including Hamilton, Annapolis, and even Anchorage, giving the dockyard a lively, slightly rakish atmosphere, a nice switch from the deadly seriousness that permeates most restored historical sites.

Next we headed for Pigeon Beach, a few minutes away at the end of a dirt road at the entrance to Falmouth Harbour. White sand, calm water, a view of the yachts moored in the harbor, and not another human being in sight. Our definition of heaven.

Earthly cares did intrude on the way back to our hotel, however, when our car was swallowed by a particularly voracious pothole along a desolate stretch of road, resulting in a flat tire. I hadn't even located the trunk-release latch when a young man appeared, seemingly out of thin air, introduced himself as Trini, and set about changing the tire with practiced efficiency. Five minutes and $10 later we were back on the road.

A fascinating and enjoyable day, but surely we'd earned the right to settle into the hotel and forget about the world outside its manicured borders. Then a couple we met by the pool told us about a restaurant in Antigua's capital, St. John's. The meal the night before at the hotel's Dockside Restaurant had been typical Caribbean resort fare: overambitious, overcooked and way overpriced. So back in the car it was.

WE'D left enough time before dinner for a quick exploration of the city's harbor, but were disappointed to find it primarily geared to the huge cruise ships that anchor there in season, with an abundance of duty-free shops. Our destination for dinner was Home, a small restaurant on an out-of-the-way street in St. John's. The dining room was simple but welcoming, and the food inviting. Fish cakes in a papaya sauce and a chicken and shrimp melange in a halved coconut were especially delicious.

The next day we remained at the St. James's, snorkeling and watching a pair of persistent pelicans plunge into the shallow water for fish, while an equally persistent pair of speed-walkers traipsed back and forth at water's edge. Windsurfers shot across the horizon. An aerobics class was being held in one of the hotel's three pools.

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Afternoon tea was a big draw for the clientele, which included many British as well as Americans and other Europeans; the main pool patio became crowded with guests sipping tea and nibbling delicate sandwiches and butter cookies.

That night we had dinner at Piccolo Mondo, an Italian restaurant at the northern end of the St. James's Club. The setting, on a terrace overlooking Mamora Bay, was lovely, and the simpler fare, especially pasta dishes, were acceptable.

Having stayed put for 24 hours, we were feeling quite relaxed the next morning. But we'd been hearing about a spectacular beach, Half Moon Bay, about 30 minutes away. Antigua is reputed to have 365 beaches, one for every day of the year. So far we'd seen just three, counting the two on the hotel's grounds. Wanderlust sent us back to the car.

Half Moon Bay was a wide crescent of fine white sand and challenging but not dangerous Atlantic surf. Velvety, uninhabited mountains framed the bay. The Half Moon Bay Club, a hotel at the southern end of the beach, hasn't yet reopened since Hurricane Luis, but there's a snack bar that is open just off the road leading to the beach.

That night we attended the hotel's weekly beach barbecue. The Dockside Restaurant's tables had been dragged a few yards away onto the beach. The food, served buffet style, was very good, including a wide selection of salads, vegetables and grilled meat and fish.

The St. James's has a small casino off the main lobby where each night I unsuccessfully tried to win back the cost of our vacation. That night, feeling sated but impoverished from the beach barbecue, I bet my daughter's birthday at roulette and won twice in a row, at 34-to-one odds. Brimming with confidence, I switched to blackjack and promptly lost it all. But the dealers and croupiers at the St. James's were the friendliest I'd ever encountered at a casino, which helped. A little.

On our last full day we resolved not to budge from the beach. A final dose of reading and sun-tanning would take priority over all else. But we kept thinking back to English Harbour, imagining those beautiful yachts glittering at night under the star-strewn Antiguan sky. So we got back in the car one last time.

Nelson's Dockyard was every bit as lively and charming at night, bustling with rugged-looking yacht crews and their pampered, nautically accessorized passengers. We went for thin-crust pizzas and salads at Le Cap Horn -- delicious, inexpensive and blessedly unpretentious.

On the way to the airport the next day, our driver took an unfamiliar route. By now I'd gotten pretty good at navigating Antigua's twisty roads, but I didn't say anything. Back in New York there would be plenty of chances to badger taxi drivers with directions.

Island spots for banishing stress

Antigua is the largest of the three Leeward Islands that make up the nation of Antigua and Barbuda. Formerly British colonies, the islands achieved full independence in 1981. American Airlines, B.W.I.A., Continental, Air Jamaica and Air Canada fly directly to Antigua from North America. All prices quoted are in United States dollars.

St. James's Club, European (room only) rates range from $235 for a basic double to $325 for a suite. During peak season, from Feb. 1 to April 11, rates are from $295 to $410. Two-bedroom villas equipped with kitchens range from $475 to $530; three-bedroom villas, $630. During peak season villas range from $595 to $655. A Platinum Plan including three meals, alcoholic beverages, afternoon tea, and most sports activities ranges from $215 to $320 a person, double occupancy; $430 to $540 for two (higher during peak season). Telephone: (800) 345-0356, fax (561) 994-6344.

English Harbour also contains two attractive lodging alternatives that are integral parts of the Dockyard. The Admiral's Inn, a former storehouse for turpentine and pitch, offers moderately priced rooms decorated with antiques; many have views of the harbor. Downstairs, a comfy bar and restaurant, popular with yachtsmen, opens onto a patio that overlooks a row of massive stone pillars, the only remains of the Dockyard's former boathouse.

At the tip of the Dockyard, the Copper and Lumber Store Hotel offers 14 suites or studios, each named after one of Nelson's ships. Many are furnished with Georgian antiques and reproductions. Studios include a private bathroom and fully equipped kitchen. Downstairs, there's a charming courtyard restaurant and an authentic-looking English pub.

Doubles with kitchens range from $195 to $325 in winter; $85 to $175 in summer, European plan. Telephone: (268) 460-1058, fax (268) 460-1529.

Where to Eat

The Saturday night beach barbecue is your best bet at the St. James's Club. It's $60 a person, all you can eat, including service and an enjoyable steel band and limbo show. Call (268) 460-5000 for reservations.

Home, at Luther George Place in Gambles, is highly recommended for its Caribbean specialties and warm atmosphere. Dinner for two is about $100, including service but not drinks. Reservations strongly suggested; call (268) 461-7651.

Le Cap Horn bills itself as a French restaurant and Argentine grill. We enjoyed their thin-crust pizza and casual setting just outside of Nelson's Dockyard. (268) 460-1194.